


What Is This Feeling You're So Sure Of

by gayerthanjew



Category: Glee, Shameless (US)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayerthanjew/pseuds/gayerthanjew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In honor of Brittana Week, this is a Glee/Shameless crossover, specifically, Brittany and Santana in Ian and Mickey's situation (respectively) in Shameless. The events in this fic are based loosely on events Ian and Mickey went through in the show. Please be advised that there are instances of violence in this story, though not graphic. (Title taken from the Shameless theme song, "The Luck You Got")</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is This Feeling You're So Sure Of

 “Britt, do you know whose these are?” Kat raised her eyebrows expectantly as she dropped the crude porn magazines onto the kitchen table. Brittany's face remained the same – indifferent to the magazine covers each with two (or more) naked women on the fronts, promising much more on the inner pages.

“No idea. Where'd you find them?” Brittany looked up at her older sister, who was scowling at no one in particular. Brittany imagined the stress of, at the age 21, keeping a household of kids aged 2 to 18 running smoothly was the reason Kat looked almost constantly peeved.

“Under Carl's bed. If they're his I swear to God –”

“They're not his,” Brittany cut her sister off. “They can't be his – they're probably Jack's or something. Must've got 'em from someone at the bar.” It could have easily been the truth – their alcoholic father was always bringing shit home from the bar.

Kat shook her head and sighed. “You're probably right. Okay, finish your breakfast and help me get everyone out to school. You gonna be home for dinner?”

“Nah, Army stuff.”

“Alright, well don't be home too late.”

Brittany watched silently as Kat dropped the magazines into the trashcan.

 

–

 

While Brittany was truly involved in Army training, this particular night, “Army stuff” meant pinning the head cheerleader of her school, Jessica, up against the back wall of the high school and fingering her into multiple orgasms.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jessica panted as Brittany sucked on the girl's neck, one hand holding Jessica's leg wrapped around her waist while the other was slipped up under her skirt and underwear, fingers pumping skillfully.

“God you're so fucking wet,” Brittany nipped at Jessica's neck. “You like me pounding into your pussy? My fingers are better than any guy's in school's dick, say it.”

“Y-you're better. Oh _fuck_ you're better!” Jessica shouted as she came again.

Brittany smirked and slowly removed her hand from between Jessica's legs, letting the girl come down from her orgasm. The blood pounding between her own legs was insufferable, but she knew she wasn't getting anything in return, so she'd just have to wait till she went back home.

She'd grown to not mind the one-sidedness of it as much as she used to. Brittany took pleasure in getting Jess off, and knowing that the hickeys the cheerleader would be sporting in school the next day were all hers.

“Let me walk you home?” Brittany offered as Jessica adjusted her skirt.

“How many times do I have to tell you I'm not a lesbo?”

Brittany opened her mouth to argue, but Jess had already pushed off the wall, heading towards the football field to cut across to her street. Brittany watched her for a few minutes until she started heading towards the front of the building, eager to get home and rub out some of the tension still between her legs.

 

–

 

Sometimes Brittany felt like she was the only gay kid, or bisexual, or whatever the fuck she was, in her school. Which she knew couldn't be true of Chicago's South Side just based on population size alone, but it still felt that way. Sure there was the small group of gay guys who walked around together, protected by their stereotypical flamboyance that not even the jocks wanted to go near – but they were bitchier than most of the girls Brittany knew and were far from the community Brittany was apparently searching for.

As Brittany moped by her locker, her best friend Marc walked her way. They'd been friends since freshman year, and Brittany had just come out to him (as a gay kid, or bisexual, or whatever the fuck) a couple of months ago. She'd been terrified, but Marc was one of the few kids in their particular slum who gave a fuck about school, and getting out of South Side, and he had better things to do than be an ignorant bigot. Also, with the last name Lopez, jet black hair and rich brown skin, Marc was no stranger to needless discrimination. When Brittany had come out to him, he had shrugged, hugged her, and sincerely offered to beat the shit out of anyone who gave her a hard time.

“Why do you look like a sad little puppy?” Marc asked, poking Brittany's shoulder.

“No reason,” Brittany sighed, shaking her head and putting on a smile. Marc narrowed his eyes at her.

“Wanna go back to my place and chill and shit?”

“Sounds good,” Brittany grabbed the last of her books from her locker and the two of them walked outside.

The Lopez house was pretty rundown – even more so than the average South Side dump. The furniture was all either stolen or pulled out of trash heaps, the front and back doors didn't even lock, and Marc's dad was always leaving cans and bottles of beer on any surface that had room for them.

Brittany plopped down on the couch, where Marc handed her an Xbox controller.

“Set it up, I'm gonna put some pizza in the oven.” Marc retreated to the back of the house. Brittany pulled up the game's menu and selected the settings so that it was ready for when Marc came back. She heard someone stirring in the otherwise quiet house.

“Yo, how'd you get your Xbox again?” She called out.

“Won it off a bet with some spoiled North Side yuppies,” a feminine voice replied from behind her.

Brittany looked back, startled, to find Marc's sister, Santana standing by the couch.

“Oh,” Brittany said, watching Santana put a cigarette between gorgeous lips. Brittany bit her bottom one, watching as Santana raised a lighter to the end of the cigarette. She was wearing a white tank top, the lean muscles beneath her tattooed-splattered arms flexing ever so slightly as she held them there, waiting for the flame to catch. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and Brittany could see she had a bunch of piercings in her ears.

Brittany had always admired Santana from afar for as long as she could remember. She scared her a little while also intriguing her.

“He knock you up yet?” Santana asked, jerking her head back towards the kitchen and stirring Brittany from the trance she'd fallen into.

“No, we're not even dating.”

“Sex isn't dating, Blondie.”

“We're not having sex, either.”

Santana laughed and blew smoke from her mouth.

“You calling my brother a fag?”

Brittany laughed. “No, Jesus Christ –”

“Santana, get the fuck out of here,” Marc chastised her as he came back into the room. Santana took a drag from her cigarette, her eyes hard as she looked from Marc back to Brittany. Brittany met her stare as if she were staring down a mountain lion – showing she wasn't afraid to face her.

Santana snorted. “Whatever,” she shook her head and walked out the front door.

“Sorry about that, she's probably already started drinking,” Marc explained as he sat down.

“No problem,” Brittany mumbled, looking at the front door as if she expected Santana to walk back through it. She stared a second longer before the sound of the video game starting brought her focus around to the present.

 

–

 

Brittany startled awake, disoriented for a few seconds before she realized she was on Marc's couch, where they had both fallen asleep after switching from video games to a movie. Brittany realized she had to pee, and got up in the dark, trying to remember her way to the bathroom. After a few stubbed toes and a definitely bruised shin, Brittany found the bathroom, peed, and started to make her way back to the couch. She was going to grab her bag and head home to finish the night in her own bed.

“Who's there?” a harsh whisper made Brittany freeze. She didn't respond right away, and flinched when the voice whispered again. “I swear I'll rip your fucking head off – who's there?”

“It's Brittany, Marc's friend,” Brittany whispered back, trying to gauge whether she'd be able to make a dash for the back door and out the porch.

“Jesus, gimme a heart attack,” the voice, which Brittany had now identified as Santana, murmured in the darkness.

Brittany deemed it safe to move again. She found Santana, basically just a shadow in the darkness of the ragged living room, standing by the couch. The sliver of light from a streetlamp outside lit her up enough to show she was holding a beer can.

“So, you pregnant _now_?” She motioned towards Marc sleeping on the couch.

“We're just friends,” Brittany insisted between gritted teeth.

“My brother's not some fag, so why aren't you fuckin' him?” Santana stepped towards Brittany. She was a couple of inches shorter, but nonetheless intimidating in the darkness of her own house.

“A guy and a girl can be just friends, you know,” Brittany whispered, trying to ignore Santana's physically intimidating presence as she looked for her bag around the couch.

“Maybe it's just 'cause you're a dyke,” Santana wondered aloud.

Brittany snapped upright. Santana's face was close to hers, and Brittany could smell the alcohol on her breath. Santana's eyes looked nearly black in the dim light from the streetlamp. Somehow, Brittany wasn't scared. Hell, if it really came to it, Brittany could probably have Santana pinned to the floor or against a wall, thanks to her JROTC training.

The thought of her pinning Santana to anything made her think of other things she probably shouldn't have, but she had no answer for Santana's drunken musings, so she was left to the images in her mind.

Santana took a long swig from her beer can before she dropped it to the ground and stepped even closer to Brittany so that Brittany was forced to take a step back. She bumped into the couch and leaned back against it, wondering how Marc was sleeping through this.

Brittany still hadn't found any words to say to Santana's accusation and was reevaluating her chances of making a run for it when Santana reached out and grabbed Brittany's arm.

_Shit, she's stronger than she looks._ “Hey, Santana, I don't want any trouble –”

The words died in Brittany's mouth as Santana guided her hand between the pants legs of her jeans. Brittany's eyes widened and she stared at Santana, who stared back at her, challenging her. Brittany knew she should pull her hand back and get back to her house as fast as she could, but even through Santana's jeans, Brittany could feel the curve of Santana's mound and it made her heart race.

“So, you're a dyke then, huh?” Santana said quietly.

“No,” Brittany said back, despite the way her hand tensed, already tired of resting between Santana's legs; itching to explore.

“Good,” Santana responded before grabbing Brittany's hand once more, this time taking it from between her legs and pulling the taller girl through the house to her room. Santana pushed Brittany down and Brittany panicked for a millisecond before she realized she was falling back onto a bed.

Santana climbed on top of her and started sucking on her neck, one hand rushing up under Brittany's shirt to pinch already hardening nipples.

“Oh, ok,” Brittany breathed, her hands threading through Santana's hair, sending her bun slightly askew. Santana lowered herself to pull a nipple between her teeth before she crawled back up to kiss Brittany's neck again.

“Are you gonna fuck me or what,” Santana growled into Brittany's neck, bringing a smirk to her face.

Brittany pushed Santana back and rolled them over so she was on top. She slipped her hand under Santana's tank top, pushing her bra up to cup her breasts and tease nipples that seemed to meet her fingers eagerly. Brittany sucked on Santana's neck, kissing down to her collarbones and then back up. Her hands fumbled with Santana's jeans, but she finally undid them enough to push her hand between Santana's body and the fabric.

Santana was shaved, but Brittany didn't care either way – she found the girl beneath her hot and wet and that was all she could think about. Brittany bit her own lip, her face buried in Santana's neck as she rubbed Santana's clit.

“Fuck,” Santana groaned into Brittany's ear. Brittany smirked and pushed two fingers into Santana, reveling in the slickness of her, the heat of her breath in her ear, the tautness of her body under hers.

“Oh, fuck me,” Santana panted out, and Brittany bit her neck gently, resisting the urge to engage in playful banter she didn't think Santana was looking for. Instead, she focused on grazing Santana's clit as she pumped into her, and soon Santana cursed and her body tensed, arching up into Brittany before falling back down to the bed, limp and blissfully spent.

Brittany slowly pulled her hand from between Santana's legs and brought it to her mouth, tasting Santana on her fingers.

“That is the gayest fucking thing I've ever seen,” Santana chuckled as she watched Brittany, her face lit up only by the weak light filtering through the window. Brittany laughed too, and dropping her hand from her mouth, leaned down to kiss Santana.

“You kiss me and I'll rip that tongue right out of your mouth,” Santana's smile was gone as she held up a hand in front of her face. With that, she sat up quickly, adjusting her bra and tank top before standing up to button her jeans. “You want a beer?”

Brittany sat up, adjusting her own clothes. “Nah, I'm gonna go home.”

“Suit yourself. Bye Blondie.” Santana walked out of the room and Brittany sat for a second until she heard Santana in the kitchen. Then she slowly made her way towards the front of the house, finding her bag and sneaking out the front door.

 

–

 

Somehow, it became a routine. It seemed like Santana wouldn't even look at Brittany when they saw each other around – at the mini-mart, outside the high school, or at the occasional block party. But somehow, they would make eye contact, Brittany understood it to be flirting to some degree, and then later they'd end up panting against each other, their thighs or hands between each other's legs, exchanging a lot of “oh, fuck”s before collapsing against each other. Any space that granted them a modicum of privacy was fair game.

Brittany realized Santana liked hooking up in her house the least of all places because she was terrified of her father, who was also a drunk, but unlike Jack, it seemed that Santana's father was abusive. It made Brittany madder than anything, but there was nothing she could really do about the bruises she found on Santana that weren't from their aggressive fucking.

They grew to be friends as well, but kept their friendship as secretive as their hook ups. Brittany learned that she wouldn't get a lot from Santana verbally – Santana's affection, if you could even call it that, came through her actions. A shared cigarette, a fresh six pack of beer, a place to sleep if Brittany ever needed to get away from her family for a night or two. They were little, maybe silly things, but they soon meant the world to Brittany, and it scared her.

Marc didn't know his best friend and his sister were sleeping together. Brittany still came over to hang out with him specifically, and Santana made sure to keep up appearances by calling Brittany a dyke every once in a while, but later, under the covers of Santana's bed, Brittany had asked her to stop calling her that, and it didn't happen again.

 

–

 

“Where's your sister?” Brittany asked Marc, as casually as she could, while they sat on his couch playing Xbox. She didn't look at him, but Brittany could see her friend shoot her a weird look out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't seen Santana at all in a few days, and had fought off the urge to ask until now.

“What, you want her to call you a dyke for the millionth time?”

Brittany smiled. “Nah, I feel like she's calling me that less anyway.”

Marc shrugged. “I think she's been running around with Tony and his group of idiots for the past couple of days. She blows 'em and gets free booze and pot.”

The color drained from Brittany's face as Marc spoke. “If she just got a fucking job like the rest of the world, she could afford to buy her own shit without having to fuck a bunch of losers, but, whatever she likes I guess.”

Brittany managed to hang out with Marc for a little while longer so as not to seem like she was acting strangely, but as soon as she felt she could, she went home. She ran upstairs and rummaged through Kat's drawers before finding a tight dress to change into. After pulling the dress on, Brittany fixed her hair and threw on a little bit of makeup before heading outside towards the bus stop.

 

–

 

“No ID, no entrance,” the bouncer looked at her sternly.

“C'mon, I've been here all the time!” Brittany lied, looking past the bouncer and into the North Side bar she'd never seen before in her life.

“You don't look familiar to me,” the large man shook his head.

“Hey Bruce, she's with us,” a woman's voice said from behind Brittany. She turned around to find a group of older women, all stunningly gorgeous, walking up towards the entrance.

“C'mon beautiful,” the woman motioned towards Brittany, indicating she should take her hand. Brittany blinked for a second, then did as she was told, linking hands easily with the older woman and smiling at the bouncer as they breezed on through into the bar.

Brittany discovered the woman's name was Trish, and not only was she gorgeous, but she could really dance. Trish introduced Brittany to all her friends, but the two of them stayed glued together on the dance floor for most of the night. Trish bought all of Brittany's drinks and when they both went to the bathroom to pee, Brittany followed Trish into the stall, locking it behind her and pinning the woman to the wall.

“Finally,” Trish grinned, wrapping her hands around the back of Brittany's neck. Brittany smiled drunkenly and leaned forward to kiss the older woman. Trish moaned into Brittany's mouth and Brittany swallowed it eagerly. As they kissed, Brittany did her best not to think of Santana. She brought her thigh up between Trish's legs, making the woman moan again. Eventually Trish pulled back, breathless and smiling as she pushed a strand of hair back from Brittany's face.

“Hey, so,” Trish stroked her thumb over Brittany's cheek. “My husband's not home, and I have this magnificent strap-on I've been looking to ride.”

“So what the fuck are we still doing in this bathroom stall?” Brittany asked, smiling as Trish laughed and grabbed her hand.

 

–

 

Brittany was working out in the park when she saw Santana walking towards her. She was surprised to see the girl, dressed in a plaid button down that was open to reveal her classic white tank top, paired with her classic ripped pair of jeans. Santana's hair was up in a ponytail and she had a cigarette between her lips. Brittany kept doing pull ups on the monkey bars until Santana got closer.

“Hey, you uh, wanna hang out?” Santana smirked.

“Nice to see you too. It's been a while,” Brittany answered coldly.

“Yeah, I guess it has,” Santana lit her cigarette, taking a long drag, oblivious to Brittany's annoyance.

“Where the hell have you been?” Brittany asked, more irritated now.

Santana shrugged. “Around.”

“With Tony whatisface?”

Now Santana frowned. “What do you care, you're not my mother.”

Brittany pursed her lips. “Well, I can't really hang out anymore, I – I have a girlfriend now,” she finished, looking for a reaction from Santana. While she and Trish hadn't called each other girlfriends, they had been meeting regularly enough now for Brittany to fudge the title and make Santana jealous.

Santana blew cigarette smoke from her nose. “Oh yeah?” Her tone had changed. “Who?”

“You don't know her, she's from the North Side.”

Santana laughed. “Oh, so she's some rich dyke who you fuck when her husband's not around?”

Brittany scowled. “It's not like that.”

“Sure it isn't,” Santana said, squinting at Brittany. She paused for a moment, as if waiting for Brittany to say she was kidding, or it was just a game, and that they could still fuck. “So you really don't want to...?”

Brittany shook her head, swallowing thickly. She wanted to say she could; she wanted to so badly, and she hated herself for it. All she wanted to do was kiss Santana, to hear her name moaned from those perfect lips, _anything_ that required some drop of emotion.

But she stood resolute, trying to find satisfaction in Santana's obvious frustration as she flicked her cigarette to the ground before walking off. Brittany was about to go back to working out when she noticed Santana walking back her way.

“Look, I told you - ”

Santana got right up in Brittany's face, a finger poking into her chest.

“What's so great about this bitch anyway, huh?”

Brittany pushed Santana's hand away. “I don't have to explain anything to you.”

“Well I wanna know. What's so special about her that you don't want to mess around with other people?” Santana's voice was low and strained, even though there was no one else near them, or even in the park.

“It's not that I don't want to mess around with other people, it's that I don't want to mess around with _you_ ,” Brittany said back, her voice just as strained as she nearly choked on the words. Santana recoiled like she'd been slapped. She turned away from Brittany and Brittany took the opportunity to clear her throat.

“She's not afraid to kiss me.”

Santana turned around and just stared at Brittany.

“Or go down on me,” Brittany added, with raised eyebrows.

Santana stepped closer again. “I told you, I'm not a fucking –”

“Dyke, yeah I know that you think that Santana, but guess what, you are a fucking dyke. And you can suck as much dick as you want, but it doesn't mean you're any less of a –” Brittany's voice went up with each word and suddenly, she was on the ground, holding her hands over her right eye, where Santana had just punched her.

“Fuck!” Brittany cursed, scrambling to stand up to protect herself if Santana came at her again. Brittany opened her left eye tentatively and saw Santana shaking out her hand. “You feel better now?” Brittany spit, her head reeling.

Santana cursed under her breath. Brittany leaned against one of the poles to the monkey bars for support. She closed her eyes, trying to make the world stop spinning.

When she finally opened them, her right one was already swelling shut, but not shut enough that she couldn't watch Santana's back walk towards the street.

 

–

 

For the next week, everyone asked Brittany who gave her the black eye, but she just told them not to worry about it. Her brothers and Marc threatened to kill the bastard who did it, Kat just shook her head and told her to put ice on it, and Trish called it hot before kissing Brittany's temple gently.

Every time Brittany looked in the mirror, she saw her eye, bruised and swollen, and still she missed Santana. She hated herself for it. It seemed like she had fallen in love with the one person on the planet who would never admit she loved her back. The thought struck Brittany like another punch.

_I love her,_ she repeated to herself. _And she loves me too, I know it._

 

–

 

“Blondie! Hey, Brittany!”

Brittany rolled over in her bed, wrinkling her nose at someone shouting her name in the middle of the night. It sounded like they were outside. She slipped out of bed and crossed over to the window as quietly as she could. She looked down and saw Santana standing there, staring up at the window. Brittany watched for a second before noticing the bottle of whiskey in Santana's hand.

_Damn it._

She hurried down the stairs and out onto the back lawn, where Santana stood, swaying drunkenly.

“Hi, I'm so glad you came down. Ha! Came,” Santana tilted the bottle up to her lips.

“Hey, whoa, let's put that down for now,” Brittany reached for the bottle, managing to pry it from Santana's hands. “What the hell are you doing?” Brittany put the bottle down and crossed her arms, aware of the way the bruise around her eye was still yellow.

Santana sucked in a deep breath then exhaled. She bit her bottom lip, practically chewed on it, and shuffled her feet. Brittany watched her with morbid curiosity. Santana's hair was down, a rare occasion, and the jet black locks that fell to her shoulders shone in the light coming from Brittany's back porch.

“I'm here...” Santana looked up at Brittany then back down at the ground. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I'm here, because...I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I should never have –” Santana stopped, her voice so strained it brought tears to Brittany's eyes. The tears threatened to fall when Brittany saw tears on Santana's cheeks.

“I should never have – fuck,” Santana turned away, rubbing her eyes angrily. Brittany took the opportunity to rub her own eyes, wiping them dry.

Santana turned back around and reached for Brittany, putting her hands on her hips and pulling them closer together. Even in the darkness, Brittany looked around, surprised by Santana's actions. She was even more surprised when Santana's hand cupped her cheek, and her eyes fluttered closed as Santana's lips closed over her own.

Brittany exhaled while her own hands flew up to Santana's cheeks, holding her face there. She kissed Santana greedily, their mouths hot and open against each others. Brittany could taste the whiskey on Santana's tongue, but she didn't care. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet. Brittany wrapped her arms around Santana's neck, pressing their bodies flush together. They only broke apart when Santana teetered under the weight of Brittany leaning into her, and then they broke out into breathless giggles. Brittany helped Santana stumble over to the porch stairs where they sat down.

“Your girlfriend kiss as good as I do?” Santana smirked, and Brittany had never considered that Santana could be cute up until right now. Brittany just shook her head and leaned over to kiss Santana again. She sucked Santana's bottom lip between her teeth and tugged, smiling as Santana let out a little laugh.

“I'm sorry I hit you, and I swear to God I'll never hit you again,” Santana mumbled, resting her hand on Brittany's leg. Brittany just kissed Santana's cheek.

“Britt?” Kat's voice called softly from the kitchen.

Santana was standing before Brittany could even blink.

“Britt?” Kat's voice came again.

“Santana,” Brittany stood, panic seizing her body; pounding in her veins. But Santana looked like a deer facing the barrel of a shotgun, and she sprinted off the porch steps and into the darkness of the backyard, where she disappeared behind the neighbor's shed.

Brittany spun around to face her sister, who was standing in the screen door, her eyes squinting trying to find her younger sister. “Here, Kat.” Brittany sighed, making her way up the steps.

“What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

“Couldn't sleep.”

“Jesus, you remember where you live? Fucking South Side of Chicago, right? Stay inside next time, watch TV, whatever – don't creep around our fucking backyard,” Kat guided Brittany back up the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah,” Brittany mumbled, her mind and heart racing as she padded back into her bedroom.

 

–

 

The next day, Santana invited Brittany to spend the weekend. Everyone would be out of the house and the two of them could just relax. Brittany knew by “relax” Santana meant get drunk and have sex, but Brittany was more than game for that interpretation.

Friday afternoon Santana picked up some beer and pizza, and the two of them settled onto the couch to watch a movie. The house was blissfully quiet besides the TV, and Brittany found herself nudging Santana's leg with her own. Santana didn't take her eyes off the TV, but she smiled and nudged Brittany's leg back.

They kept it up for a few minutes before Santana broke. “Fuck it,” she said before climbing over and straddling Brittany. Santana leaned down to kiss Brittany, but Brittany put her hands on Santana's shoulders, holding her back so their lips were barely an inch apart. Brittany couldn't believe she was teasing someone who hadn't been able to kiss her until a couple of days ago, but the glint in Santana's eye made it too much fun.

When Brittany finally acquiesced, Santana kissed her hard and they both began pulling at each other's clothing when they could spare a second between kisses. Finally, they were both naked, and Santana kissed down over Brittany's chest, drawing a nipple between her lips and teeth, and then the other. Brittany hummed appreciatively, her hands lacing through Santana's hair. She expected Santana to come back up, but Santana kept kissing down, over Brittany's belly, lower –

Brittany's eyes went wide. “Santana, you don't have to,” she smiled, hoping it didn't look as sad as she felt.

“I want to,” Santana said plainly. They held each other's gaze for a second longer before Santana returned to kissing down Brittany's body. She adjusted herself, placed two gentle, almost reverent, kisses on Brittany's inner thighs, and then licked up Brittany's warm, wet center.

Brittany shuddered violently and it only encouraged Santana, who flicked Brittany's clit with her tongue.

“ _God_ , you are so gay,” Brittany moaned, biting into the palm of her hand as Santana continued to eat her out.

“Shut up,” Santana growled before she pushed two fingers into Brittany. She sucked on Brittany's clit as she pumped two fingers into her, and after the occasional flick of her tongue, Brittany let out a whimper and came, gyrating her hips to help work herself into Santana's mouth and hand even more as she rode her orgasm.

When Brittany settled back into the curve of the couch, Santana gave her a smug smile and crawled up to lie on top of the blonde, kissing her lazily. She opened her mouth to say something, but Brittany watched Santana freeze for the second time in a few days at the sound of a voice behind them.

“What in the motherfuck...” Santana's father stood in the front door, his mouth open as he absorbed Santana and Brittany naked on the couch. He was a frightening sight at at least 6 feet tall, 200 pounds. They seemed to all be frozen, caught in the nightmare Santana hadn't dared speak of or even imagine.

Santana broke the silence by practically falling off of Brittany onto the floor, where she scrambled for her clothes.

“Run, hey, fucking run!” Santana yelled at Brittany, who was still on the couch. Brittany started moving frantically, trying to hop over the back of the couch and find some of her own clothes.

“Where the fuck do you think you're going?” Santana's father lunged for her, then turned to Brittany when Santana dodged his grasp.

“No daughter of mine is gonna be some fucking queer dyke! Hey!”

He managed to grab Brittany, who was still naked, and pinned her to his body with his arms. Brittany shrieked and kicked out, trying any way possible to slip from the large man's grasp.

“No! No, let her go!” Santana punched her father's arms rapidly until he had to drop Brittany to focus on his daughter. He grabbed Santana's arms instead.

“Get out of here, Brittany!” Santana screamed. Brittany took a step but didn't want to leave Santana with her dad, who looked murderous. “Go, please!” The desperation in her voice made Brittany turn to run for the back door. She had managed to grab her pants and pulled those on, hopping towards the door and holding her hands over her breasts as she ran home, ignoring the whistles and comments from people she passed.

Brittany got home and sprinted straight up to the bathroom, where she locked the door and paced the two feet of tile floor. No matter what she did that night, she could still hear the sound of Santana's father slapping his daughter across the face as the porch door had swung shut behind her.

 

–

 

Brittany didn't sleep that night, or the next. She waited for Santana to come find her, like she usually did. At school, or the park, or even her backyard – Brittany made herself available as often as she could, waiting to see Santana walking towards her. But days went by, and Santana was nowhere to be found. Brittany didn't dare go over to her house for fear of Santana's father, and made up excuses when Marc asked her to hang out. He made no mention of Santana, and somehow that made Brittany even more nervous.

One night, Brittany was sitting on her porch steps, unable to sleep again and staring blankly at a spot in the backyard, when someone materialized from the darkness of the neighbor's lawn and started walking across theirs. Brittany perked up and didn't believe it was Santana walking towards her until she could recognize some features in the dim light from the porch.

Brittany stood up and ran towards Santana, wrapping her in a tight hug when she reached her. Santana let out a pained grunt and only then did Brittany realize how bad the damage really was. She let go of Santana quickly and helped her towards the porch steps.

“Honey,” Brittany practically whimpered as she turned Santana's head towards her gently. The girl's face was nearly one whole bruise, her lips puffy and cracked, and one eye was swollen closed, while the other had a cut right above the eyebrow. Brittany ran her hands down Santana's arms, holding them lightly and feeling her stomach churn at the deep bruises she saw underneath tattoos.

“Your legs...” Brittany wondered aloud, but Santana was in her favorite pair of jeans, and only needed to look at Brittany for her to know the results would be the same as the rest of her body showed. Brittany's eyes blurred with tears and she closed them, leaning forward to press a kiss to Santana's forehead.

“It's fine,” Santana croaked.

“I should have stayed,” Brittany murmured.

“Don't even say that,” Santana said back instantly. “What would you do with those spaghetti arms of yours anyway?” Brittany heard the small smile in Santana's voice.

“Excuse me, I'm training to be in the army and could definitely kick some serious ass!”

Santana fell silent and Brittany felt the tone grow instantly serious again. Truthfully, Brittany knew she would have gotten the shit kicked out of her just the same as Santana, but at least they would have been together.

“You'll stay here, until we figure something out.” Brittany took Santana's hand in hers.

“What's there to figure out? I have to leave, my dad will – he'll kill me,” Santana choked out.

Brittany shook her head adamantly. “No, your dad is never going to touch you ever again. You'll stay here, until we figure something out. Goddamnit Santana, I love you, okay, just –” Brittany cut herself off with a huff. She swallowed thickly and looked at Santana.

“I love you, okay? I love you.”

Santana's tongue darted out between her swollen lips and she stared at their hands laced together between them. “Okay,” she agreed, looking back up into Brittany's eyes.

Brittany smiled softly before giving Santana's hand a gentle tug. The two of them stood up, and hand in hand, Brittany led them inside.

 

 


End file.
